


Just Try Me, Bitch

by Prototype



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prototype/pseuds/Prototype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deviant. Cruel. Seductive. And far too intelligent for your own good. Game on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Try Me, Bitch

**Just Try Me, Bitch**

 

You and I have been at odds ever since we were children. In the playgrounds, it was who had the best toy, the deepest hole. Who had what for lunch, whose crush liked them back? Who drew the best picture, which was the teacher’s pet?

  
Secondary school, it was the other extreme. Who bunked the most, who was in more trouble, more outrageous? Who had the better hair? The better eyes? Who was the one the girls all simpered for and the guys wanted to be? Who got in more fights and smoked more weed and was a bigger disappointment to their parents?

  
Growing up in an endless competition made me a hard person. Hard and quick. Together we seemed the worst pair of friends. We fought, we never ran out of insults. I left you in the middle of fields, drunk. You stole my girlfriend. I wrecked your car. You let me run from the police solo. But even though we drove each other insane, and gave each other every insult and injury they ever invented – and then some- we were the best pair of friends conceivable.

  
No one came between us, not girls in their short skirts and liprings, and not guys with their lame ideas on what punk rock truly was and how to roll a fat joint.

  
We were together every minute of the day. You hardly ever went home to that place your parents called a home, and I rarely left mine, stuck inside my bedroom, waiting for you to crawl through the window and start the competition all over again. It became a routine, a replay, and that got boring.

  
It changed, to who could shock the other the most. You started with drugs, going to the extremes, waiting for me to cry uncle and get you to stop, ceding victory. I never did though, I just travelled through the substances with you and when you were passed out, I dragged you home to your bastard parents and waited with your body for your mind to come back, always in more pieces.

  
In return, I began to steal and lie. I made people believe I was dying, earning sympathy and reaping the rewards of human kindness. People began to turn a blind eye to the theft that could only be blamed on the ‘poor, terminally ill kid’. You couldn’t believe I got away with it, but it was your turn to raise the bar. You even ratted me out to the police. 

  
But no matter how often you got me into shit, like me, you were there to get me out with a big, fat alibi.

  
Next you began screwing with people, fucking them up mentally, ruining their lives. You hated it when I joined you in that, but neither of us could get the mind games to work on the other. We fucked up so many people, we were worse than serial killers. But it wasn’t enough.

  
Next came success. You got it first, your band got the record deal and I was proud internally. Outside, I was harsh to you, critical and mocking. You loved it, you teased me about my band, my dead end. But I got you back, best friend, when my band got one too. You even jumped ship, because you knew we were so much better than you. So there we were, heading for the top together and still at each other’s throats.

  
You came back to the tour bus one evening to find me fucking your girlfriend in your bunk and we didn’t speak for two days before letting the insults fly. I know you hated me, but you loved me even more for being such an arsehole. You got me back as well, when you got my fiancé pregnant. Like I cared.

  
All I cared about was winning this battle between us.

  
I fucked your sister, fucked her good and hard, taking the virginity she’d cared over for the past sixteen years. I fucked her repeatedly, told her I loved her, lead her on to the point where she would lie around in my bunk and sigh when I ignored her. When I dumped her, you had to take care of the pieces, and I knew the comeback would be awesome.

  
Only I didn’t expect to find you bashing my brother’s arse all over the bus, fucking him incoherent. That blow was so shocking I didn’t have a comeback to that. You waited, waited with that smirk I’d seen so many times on your face. That smirk I wanted to slap off. Or do something else too.

  
The final comeback, the next level of our insane friendship came to me so clearly when I saw you brush my brother off for the millionth time and look for my eyes, smiling with that glint in your eyes.

  
I caught you behind the stage, you were sweating from the show, exhausted and stinking. No one else was around, there were still fans leaving the arena. You asked me about my one missed note no one noticed and I asked you how that solo didn’t go, the one Ray had to rescue. You glared at me, stung even by the most primary of insults.

  
“You’re an arsehole, you know that Gerard?” you tell me moodily, putting your guitar down and running from hand through your wet hair. I lick my lips and grin at you.

  
“And so are you. Only I have more interesting ideas for your arsehole,” I tell you, lowering my voice so you have to lean in to hear. Then you frown and look at me, confused.

  
“What the fuck?”   

  
Then I kiss you and the sun goes down. I push you back onto the dark stage, pushing you down on the drum kit platform. You glance at the fans still leaving the arena, chanting our name and talking excitedly about the explosive show we’d given them. Only this show was more private. I shut up your questions with my lips, ripping off that heavy jacket and ripping your t-shirt off your shoulders.

  
You were always shorter than me, I’ll always win that. But you were always stronger than me, heavier. You turn me on to my back, sitting across my hips and pulling my jacket and shirt off in the same fashion, lips curling and eyes glinting.

  
“Did I ever thank you for getting rid of my girlfriend for me?” you ask, and I could only see your dim online from the lights directed on the fans. You still manage to turn me on, even bathed in shadows.

  
“No. Did I ever thank you for knocking up my wife?” I fired back, sitting up and biting your lip. You frown and push me back down roughly, dragging your stubby nails down my chest.

  
“She wasn’t your wife,” you tell me sulkily and I grin through half lowered eyelids.

  
“Did I hit a nerve?” I teased. You smirk and bend down to kiss me again, sending the heavens reeling.

  
“I plan to hit several of yours,” you tell me, trying to turn me over. Oh no, I don’t let that happen. I push you off and then I bend you over the platform, fucking you so hard you couldn’t sit for days. You yelled out my name and moaned and groaned and I made you be my bitch, liking having you closer than bickering best friends more than I thought I would.

  
But, in the end, I won.

  
You always came first. 


End file.
